There is nothing more awkward then being in an army helicopter with a bunch of teenagers you don't know, all staring at you like they;
A) do know you.
B) acting as if in the time you've been away from them, you've caught the plague.
I mean, there might have been more awkward things that have happened to me, but given my recent memory less, I can't be sure.
Elijah, and the Irish girl, Grace, are flanking either side of me. Elijah has tried to force me to eat roughly seven sandwiches and drink five pints of water. I've managed two sandwiches and one pint before I felt my stomach heave.
Both Elijah and Grace have stopped at least three separate people from asking me any questions just by glaring at them. I don't see why, it's not like I have the answers anyway. I have more questions then anything else. But I'm too tired to actually ask any. I just doze in and out of sleep, my head resting on the shoulder of the boy who I met a few hours ago and yet feel like I've known forever.
"Amelia." Elijah whispers, shaking me awake. I can feel the helicopter lowering as he says, "We're back."
My life hasn't been the most mundane, there's always been weird tidbits or stories for me to tell,
mostly about my parents. But let me tell you, having everyone watch me watch the landscape, hoping for some sort of recognition as we land, will always be one of the weirdest feelings.
I don't recognise the field we're landing in. Nor the huge stone building that sits just a stones throw away. The high wall locking everyone in is as alien to me as my own body has become. I don't know this place or anything about it. Nothing is familiar to me. It feels strange as the chopper drops to the ground in the scorching start of summer sun.
"Anything?" Elijah asks me.
"No," I shake my head.
Because I don't. I don't ever remember coming here. I don't remember arriving or making friends. I don't know anything about this school. Yet my entire body is letting me know it's not a bad place, not like wherever I have just been.
The chopper lands, and the older boy, Stanley, the one who looks just like Elijah, swings the door open. An army of teenagers stand out the front, forming a pathway for me. They stare at me. Elijah steps in front of me, a human shield as we shuffle forward. It's bizarre to be shielded by a stranger who gives off the vibe he will throw himself on a bomb to protect me, when I only know his first name.
It feels like every single person in the place has been summoned for my arrival. Then the crowd parts to the entrance of the main building to revel a striking redheaded woman staring down.
"Amelia," The woman says, smiling. "We are so glad to have you back."
"Er..." I say, because I don't feel like I'm back, but more that I'm arriving. "Thanks?"
"Are we just going to ignore the fact she looks like death?" Grace asks everyone.
I feel like death, so I'm not offended. Elijah doesn't share the same sentiment as his head whips around to glare at her.
"What?" She asks. "Look at her, her dead cat has seen better days."
"You know about Fluffy?" I ask her, which is probably totally inappropriate but this whole thing is bizarre.
"Of course. I know almost things about you. I know you best," She says. Then she glances to Elijah, "Well. Almost."
Everyone seems to be waiting for me to do or say something. I don't really know what, so I say, "Nice."
Declarations of love were never really my thing, they're certainly not now I'm surrounded by strangers. What did they want me to say? Thanks for the warm welcome but I don't know you? How is a person meant to react when they've been rescued from something and they don't even know what?
"We're ready for her." The redhead says to Stan.
I look around to Elijah, "What does that mean?"
No one responds as I'm led into a foyer with a grand marble staircase and large wooden doors. We stop in the middle and I get hit with a weird sense of dejavu. I feel as though there should be metal doors sliding down. Elijah should be flying through the air. "Over there." I say, pointing towards where, if this memory is true, he would have landed.
"What is it?" Elijah asks.
"Steel doors," I tell him.
"Yes," He says, encouraging me.
"You - you were over there?" I can see his face, flying through the air, away from me. It's dark and there's a steel door closing.
"Yes." He says. "And?"
"That's it." The memory is fuzzy and barely there. "It's not a dream?"
"It's not a dream." He confirms.
"I really do know you?"
"You do."
The whole room seems to have come to a standstill as they watch me. But nothing else comes to me. Just that. Maybe as I wonder around my brain will be jolted. I have no doubt that I have been here before. I have no questions in where they are taking me. That they know me. Maybe deep down I know the truth, I'm just not ready to face it yet.
"We must go," The redhead presses.
"To where?" I ask.
"We need to ask you some questions," She says.
"But I don't know anything."
She smiles at me, "Not right now, anyway."
Then she leads me upstairs, to a classroom that looks like something from a film. There's a long table table with chairs surrounding it, every wall is covered with information about me. Timelines. My date of birth, height, weight, hair colour, eye colour. They even have my favourite colour.
Three boards are titled; 'What I did before'. 'What I did during.' 'What I did after.' I'm not sure what the thing 'I did' is, I don't know that I want to know. But intricate details are up on the wall for everyone to see.
There's tea, coffee and stale pastries left abandoned, as though information came in and everyone suddenly rushed out. Well, I suppose information did. I suppose I came back.
In the middle of the table is a map of a deserted hospital just outside of Berchtesgaden, a rural area in Germany. That must be where they found me. How did I get to Germany? What was I doing there?
It's all too overwhelming, I have a horrible urge to run from room and flee. But people are filing in; teachers, the older boy, the redhead, Grace. They're all stood here with me. Then Elijah scrapes a chair back, sits in it, gesturing for me to do the same, in the chair opposite him. I do. The room falls silent. All eyes are on me.
"How do you feel?" He asks me.
It's a simple question, but it feels like a loaded question. Because I've just been rescued from god knows what, by god knows who, and taken somewhere I would swear I've never been before; except I clearly have. Now I'm meant to explore how that makes me feel? To this boy? Surrounded by strangers? How the hell am I meant to answer that?
"I feel okay," I mutter.
"Good," He says. "That's good. Do you feel up to answering some questions?"
"Um, sure?" I say, even though I really feel like I should be the one asking questions; given my current memory loss and all. "Don't know how good the answers will be though?"
"That's okay," He says. His eyes pierce into mine. "Do you have any idea who took you?"
"No."
"Do you have any idea what they wanted with you?"
"No."
"In the six months they've had you-"
"Six months?" I hiss. "You've been looking for me for six months?"
Elijah blanches and looks away from me. "We came close. A lot. We kept missing you. You were smart and kept leaving hints. The best of all was a tracking device, but the signal was in an out. Whoever you were with were seemed to always be one step ahead of us."
I digest the news. I've been gone from here for six months. Someone was always one step ahead. I stare at Elijah, "Maybe someone in your circle was telling them." This isn't met kindly, people around the room hiss and tut, but I've seen enough films, read enough books to know there's nearly always a mole.
Elijah doesn't disagree with me, instead he asks, "What do you last remember?"
I take a breath, "My dad died. We had his funeral and then... nothing."
"And Miss Gateshead?" Elijah asks, "Do you remember meeting her at your dads funeral?"
"Who is Miss Gateshead?"
The redhead clears her throat, "I am."
I look at her, try and recall if I've ever met her, "No."
Elijah doesn't flinch but I know it's weird. How can I remember the funeral but not someone I met at it?
"Is there anything you can tell us that we might not know?"
I close my eyes, try and cast my mind back but I'm only met with emptiness, a blackness. Nothing. "I'm sorry, I really don't know."
"That's okay." He says. "Six months is a long time though. There isn't anything you remember?"
"Well..." I pause. "I kind of remember you. I don't remember, remember but my body does. Everything is telling me to trust you."
Elijah doesn't smile, he looks utterly broken. "You should trust me."
"I do. But it doesn't mean I'll remember. I'm sorry, I know you all want more from me. But I don't even remember coming here. I don't remember meeting any of you. Let alone whatever caused," I gesture to my battered and bruised body, "this."
Elijah winces, unable to look at the marks all over me.
"We believe you were tortured." Miss Gateshead says. "They look like repeated strikes."
"Tortured?" I ask, staring down at my body. "But I'm just a kid!"
"You're more then that." She tells me, walking around the table and sitting in front of me. "Amelia, your father was a spy. Your mother too. You obviously have information these people desperately want. It would help us greatly if you could tell us anything-"
I shake my head, trying to shake away her absurd words. Tears forming in my eyes "-I don't know anything! I'm just a kid!"
"Amelia," Elijah says softly. "It's okay, you're safe now."
The pain in my head has started to rise, my body starting to ache, the words too much. My voice comes out from me, mechanical, cold, "I'm Amelia Warbur. My dads is an engineer. My mum is a stay at home mum. I am sixteen years old. I don't know anything. I'm Amelia Warbur. My dads an engineer. My mum is a stay at home mum. I am sixteen years old. I don't know anything. I'm Amelia-"
"It must have been what she told them when they interrogated her." Elijah whispers. "Just that mantra. Over and over."
"Amelia," Grace says, coming over to me and holding my raw and bloodied hand. "It's okay."
I look from her to Elijah. "Then please stop asking me questions."
They both nod. Elijah stands and faces the adults in the room. "She needs to see a doctor. Her wounds need bandaging."
Miss Gateshead looks like wants to disagree, to push on but she gives one nod instead and says, "Very well."